ICED OVER
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: A long overdue auction story for bhoney. Their latest hunt was successful; the Winchesters ganked their latest supernatural baddies. But not before the baddies did some damage and now Sam and Dean slide headlong into danger. Hurt!Dean Protective!Sam
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Written for bhoney who bought me at a Support Stacie auction many moons ago. I heartily apologize for the long, long delay. Writer's block totally sucks. I hope you enjoy the read.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Kripke & Co. own all. Just having a little fun.

* * *

**Iced Over**

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

Sam Winchester cursed and peered out the front windshield of the Impala. The world beyond was a curtain of glittery white, snow falling fast and hard. His fingers tightened on the wheel, and he muttered another curse; this one directed at the trio of _Cailleacha_—winter hags—who were responsible for this current storm.

The hags had been their latest hunt and the brothers had found them fairly quickly and set out to take them down just after dusk. However, the _Cailleacha_ hadn't taken kindly to intervention into their plans and had not gone down without a mighty fight. Most of their fury had been directed at his brother, Dean, who had been tossed around like he weighed no more than a ping pong ball. They'd finally manage to gank the trio of winter hags as well as the oracle they used to bring about meteorological chaos, but not before they'd managed to set off this last blizzard.

A soft groan from the passenger seat garnered his attention. He tore his gaze away from the road for a second, glancing at Dean who was slumped—pale and wan—against the door. "How you doing, bro?"

Dean bit his lip, knuckles whitening as he gripped the edges of the leather seat as lightning bolt of pain streaked across his thigh where a errant tree branch had gouged a deep, ragged furrow. The hasty bandage they'd wrapped around it was crusted with blood. "'M okay," he mumbled. Releasing the seat, Dean rubbed a palm across his damp forehead, attempting to ease the throb behind his eyes.

A wind gust shook the car and Sam turned his attention back to the road. "We should be back to the motel soon," he promised. The Impala moved forward a few more feet before another unnatural gust of wind rocked it back and forth. Sam grimaced and straightened the Impala. As much as he loved the classic car, it drove like a boat at the best of times. Challenged by a supernaturally-conjured storm was pushing it to its limits.

Another tense minute passed and then the tires met a patch of black ice just as another blast of wind shook the car. Sam yelped when the car fishtailed then spun despite his grip on the steering wheel. He fought to correct the Impala's course but the effort proved to be futile. After several more gut-churning spins, the big black vehicle left the road, violently crunched through snow and tangled scrub, and sank backend first into a shallow ditch.

As the car shuddered to a jarring halt, Sam opened his eyes, released his white-knuckled hold on the steering wheel finger by finger before rubbing at the side of his head where it had banged against the window. "Dean, you okay? Turning to look at his brother, Sam found him splayed across the seat, white-faced, one hand fisted on the seat, the other gripping his torn thigh. His eyes were scrunched closed. "Dean?"

The older Winchester lurched upright and fought desperately to open the heavy passenger-side door a few inches. Icy snow swirled and bathed his face as he threw up. He'd barely finished when Mother Nature and gravity slammed the door shut again. Dean shakily wiped the moisture from his face and ran a hand across his mouth, squinting over at Sam. "Worst carnival ride ever…"

Sam allowed a small chuckle. "Yeah, tell me about it." He took hold of the steering wheel again. "Now let's see if I can get us out of here." By alternating between _Drive_ and _Reverse_ and pressing the accelerator, Sam attempted to rock the Impala out of her predicament. Unfortunately, it was all to no avail. After several attempts, Sam sighed in defeat and cast a worried look at Dean, who had remained silent during the whole process. That alone was cause for concern. "Dean?"

"I know. We're not getting out of here tonight."

"Apparently not."

"'s okay. We can just stay here 'til morning. Start the car off and on for heat."

Sam turned the key, cutting the engine. "Uhhh, I don't think so, Dean. I smell exhaust. I think the pipe might be blocked by snow. And if we just sit here and it _keeps_ snowing like this, we might never get out of the car come morning."

"So whattaya wanna do?" mumbled the older hunter.

Sam was quiet for a few minutes while he considered their options. Finally, he spoke, "Remember that old hunting cabin we saw just before we found the _Cailleacha_?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess…"

"I think we should be able to make it back there."

"Hike back there in this?" Dean made a vague gesture with his hand.

"It should only be about a mile. And I really don't see any other option, do you?"

Dean grimaced as a spasm of pain tore down his leg. He shivered and his head swam. Pushing it all away, he grunted, "I guess that's a plan then. Let's go." Before his fingers found the door handle, Sam stopped him.

"Hold on. Lemme see if I can get some stuff from the trunk first." The younger Winchester extracted the keys, pulled up his hood, and exited the car, slipped and slid through about five inches of accumulated snow to the back of the vehicle. Avoiding the standing water in the bottom of the ditch, Sam was grateful for his long reach as he was able to unlock the trunk despite the awkward angle. Pocketing the keys, he grabbed an old backpack that was within his reach, quickly stuffed in their small first aid kit, an old blanket, a couple of ratty towels, a flashlight, and their last two bottles of water. Returning to the driver's side door, he dived inside the car. "You about ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Sam eyed his brother, ensuring he had coat zipped and gloves on. "Here," he shoved an old gray knit watch cap at Dean, "Put this on."

Dean grumbled but put on the hat without argument.

Sam again exited the car, shoved his arms through the straps of the backpack, securing it. He tightened the strings on his hoodie and slipped on his own gloves. "Come out this way; it should be easier."

The older hunter slid across the bench seat and out of the car, pushing himself slowly upright. Sam's hand steadied him while he found his balance.

"You're leg okay?"

It wasn't. His thigh was on fire. In fact, his whole body hurt like mad from head to toe. Dean shrugged. "I'll live."

"I guess we should get going then."

Dean lurched forward, nearly losing his precarious footing in the slippery snow. He recovered and limped forward, his brother gripping his upper arm in guidance and support.

Thick streamers of snow continued to dance and writhe to and fro on conflicting currents of air, sweeping away their footprints as the Winchesters started their journey. And somewhere the trio of _Cailleacha _giggled in delight.

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

I'm not 100% sure about this chapter. Frankly, I'm downright nervous about it. But I've completely obsessed over it enough--time to get it out there. Oh, and something weird is going on with my review responses. So if you somehow received two from me on the first chapter or you didn't receive one at all, I apologize. I even seem to be missing some reviews. I dunno. Weird.

Ness

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They were no more than a dozen minutes into their journey when Dean stumbled for the first time. He corrected himself with a impatient and pained grunt, ignoring the throbbing in his leg and the furtive _'Are You Okay?'_ look Sam shot in his direction. He managed another dozen steps before coming to a stop, a frown creasing his forehead. Dean spun in a slow circle, eyeing the frozen, white-cloaked landscape.

"Dean, what are you doing?" asked Sam, who'd stopped a few feet ahead.

"Don't you hear them?"

"Hear who?"

"Them. The w-winter h-hags.

"We killed the winter hags, bro."

"N-No, no. They're still around. I-I hear them l-laughing!" Dean completed another wobbly 360 degree turn, squinting against the wind to get a glimpse of one of the hags. "Don't you hear them?"

Sam walked back to his brother and dropped a hand on his shoulder, his own expression marred by a frown—a worried one. "No, dude, I don't hear anything. C'mon, we need to keep moving." He nudged Dean forward with his shoulder.

Dean wanted to dig his heels in and make Sam listen more closely, but he was too tired, and too cold, to argue. Instead he fell into step beside then behind his taller sibling as his limp hampered his gait.

In unpredictable intervals, the wind picked up whipping snow into their faces, stinging their eyes and coating their eyelashes. It became hard to breathe properly as each inhale sucked snow crystals into the brothers' mouths. Sam tucked his chin to his chest and pulled his hoodie up around his mouth to block the wind-driven snow. Dean, however, had no such option and coughed as the icy crystals irritated the back of his throat. He eventually stumbled to a stop, swaying as the wind buffeted his battered body.

A minute or so later, Sam slowed and looked over his shoulder at Dean, frowning when he saw him tug off his gloves and begin to unzip his jacket. He stopped and turned, hurrying back to his brother's side. "Dean, what are you doing?" He reached out to stop Dean's frantic actions.

"'m hot," he mumbled.

"Dude, you need to leave that stuff on."

Ignoring Sam completely, Dean dropped his gloves as he fought against the uncooperative zipper with uncoordinated fingers. He finally let out a triumphant grunt as the zipper came free, and he began to shrug out of the jacket.

Before Sam could react and make a move to retrieve them, the wind carried away the gloves. Swearing, he stepped closer to Dean and grabbed the coat, pulling it back in place. "No, Dean, you need to leave it on."

"Uh uh. H-Hot…" The older Winchester rocked backward, struggling to loosen Sam's hold. Breathing hard, Dean coughed as the frigid air and fine particles of snow crystals assaulted his lungs.

"Dean, stop!" Sam tugged his brother back toward him. "Listen," placing a hand on each side of Dean's face, Sam held him still and forced his older sibling to meet his gaze. "You have to keep your coat on, man. We're in the middle of a snow storm here."

"B-But…"

Logic and persuasion wasn't working so Sam resorted to making it an order in his best deep-throated, John Winchester voice. As his brother stilled and quieted, Sam zipped up his coat. "Your gloves are gone."

Dean's face puckered in vague confusion.

Sam tucked Dean's hands in his jacket pockets. "Your gloves are gone so I want you to keep your hands in your pockets, okay?"

Dean slowly nodded. "Okay."

"We should reach the tree line soon, and it'll get better," Sam promised. "The cabin shouldn't be too far after that."

They continued on, but his injuries and blood loss were working against Dean as the cold and harsh conditions sapped his strength more rapidly. Keeping his balance in the slippery snow and pervasive wind with his hands in his pockets proved to be next to impossible. The older Winchester lost track of time as he trudged through the deepening snow, his boots crunching as he worked to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other. Sam's longer stride kept him a few steps ahead, and Dean kept his gaze locked on his little brother's back. Lethargy stole over him as the wind continued to slam into him.

Despite his concentration, Dean wasn't prepared when his left foot slid sideways as he stepped and the ground suddenly shifted beneath his feet. He stumbled then went down hard, landing awkwardly on his hands and knees. Dean cried out as the wound on his leg screamed in protest. His fingers clutched at the bloodied bandage.

Sam was at Dean's side in an instant. "Dean?"

"S'mmy, I-I c-can't," Dean panted, his fingers spasming on his thigh. "C-Can't go a-any…"

"Yes you can, Dean! I'm not letting you give up." Sam wrapped his hand around Dean's elbow and pulled upward, helping him gain his feet. Dean swayed into him, and Sam could feel the tremors wracking his brother's frame. He wrapped an arm around Dean's waist. "C'mon, big brother, don't give up on me now…" He moved them forward, grip tightening when Dean's knees buckled. "We can do this."

They lurched and lunged forward, progress slow and lumbering but ultimately productive. The duo reached the tree line and entered the copse, the surrounding trees immediately cutting the force of the wind. Sam sighed gratefully and blinked away the snow clinging to his eyelashes.

"Almost there, bro." he muttered more to himself than to Dean, his own strength beginning to leach away. Sam felt a moment of panic when disorientation set in as the trees quickly thickened around them. He despaired ever making the decision to leave the Impala, and for a split second, he was certain he and his brother were going to end up another ignoble statistic when, or maybe if, their frozen bodies were found. Yet some instinct kept him on an invisible path, with groggy older brother in tow.

He wanted to shout in delight when, about ten minutes later, the dark shadow of the cabin loomed in the near distance. A spark of new energy spurred him on. Yet as happy as he was to see shelter within his grasp, Sam knew to approach with caution. Leaning Dean gently against a tree, he instructed, "Stay here. I'm just going to do a quick recon." Dean mumbled something Sam couldn't hear before he hurried away.

After assuring that everything was safe, Sam returned to find Dean now slumped at the base of the tree with his eyes closed. Alarmed, he crouched in front of his brother and gently tapped his waxen cheeks. "C'mon, Dean, open those big green eyes of yours. No sleeping—not yet."

A slightly harder tap finally brought Dean around, and he pried his eyes open. "Wha?"

Sam grinned upon seeing that green-eyed, albeit bleary and unfocused, gaze. "That's it, bro. Let's go. We're here." Sam once again helped Dean to his feet.

"H-Here w-where?"

"The cabin, remember?"

"Oooh, y-yeah—th'cabin." Dean nodded sagely. His tongue darted out as he licked his dry, chapped lips.

Resuming his hold around Dean's waist, Sam helped him navigate across the small clearing, up the stairs, and across the small porch. After quick work on the lock, the Winchesters wobbled and wavered across the threshold and into welcome shelter.

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

Sam stumbled across the floor of the cabin dragging his brother with him. He huffed out a relieved breath, grateful to be out of the harsh elements. Squinting in the sudden dimness, he took in their surroundings. They were in the middle of a modest living room with rustic, paneled walls and an empty, almost forlorn-looking stone fireplace dominating most of one of them. There was a small kitchen to the right and an open door in the back right corner appeared to lead to another, smaller room, likely a bedroom. "C'mon, bro, just a few more steps then you can rest, okay?"

"'m tired?" mumbled Dean.

"Yeah. Tired, not to mention injured."

"Injur'd? D-Don't feel annnythin'."

"You will."

Sam led Dean to the worn, threadbare couch positioned in front of the fireplace and eased him down on the cushions. He dropped the backpack to the floor, pulled off his gloves and undid the ties of his hoodie, shoving it off his head. He shivered as clinging bits of snow found their way down the back of his neck. The cabin may have provided shelter from the elements but at the moment the interior was almost as freezing as outside.

The younger Winchester's own cold fingers reached for then fumbled with the snaps and zippers on Dean's coat. Tugging at the sleeves, Sam worked to get the jacket off uncooperative limbs. With a final tug, it slid free. Sam tossed it aside and reached for the snap on Dean's jeans. As he expected, Dean protested, albeit weakly.

"N-Nooo—wha're doing?" Dean clumsily shifted against the cushions.

"Take it easy, bro. I need to get your wet clothes off. Get you warmed up."

"I-I can do—"

"Relax. It'll be faster if I do it." Sam studied Dean's hands which were bright red and slightly puffy looking. He noticed that the very tips of Dean's fingers were white. Frostnip—the beginnings of frostbite. Sam gently tapped Dean's wind-burned cheek, drawing his attention. "Trust me, okay?"

After Dean murmured his consent, Sam made quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping the jeans and easing them off Dean's hips. Not wanting to cause further injury, he slowed when he neared the wound on his brother's thigh. Sam's gaze took in the gash through the bloody rent in the denim. Holding his breath, the younger Winchester gently eased the half-frozen material away from his sibling's skin. Once that hurdle was cleared, Sam emptied his lungs, stirring his shaggy bangs, and pulled the jeans to Dean's ankles, pausing only to remove his boots and socks, and finished extracting Dean's feet from his pants before gathering all the items and dumping them on top of the discarded jacket.

Still clad in his boxer briefs, t-shirt, long-sleeved button down, and watchman's cap, Sam thought his brother may have looked comical if not for the sum of his various injuries, the pale, drained expression, and glassy green eyes. Under other circumstances, it would call for a quick pic taken with his cell phone. However, worry and a protective bent far outpaced any ideas of future teasing.

"Here, Dean—why don't you lay down?" Sam helped Dean stretch out on the couch and propped his feet on the armrest. Pulling the scratchy, old, and ultimately too short, blanket from inside the backpack, the young hunter draped it over his prone brother.

"Listen, I need to go find some firewood, okay?"

"Wha?" Dean asked, through teeth that were beginning to chatter.

"I need to find some firewood, build a fire in here and get you—and me—warmed up. I'll be right back."

"Y-Y-You sure?"

Sam shook his head. "Yes, I'm sure."

"'kay."

Leaving Dean ensconced on the couch, Sam again raised his hood and pulled on his gloves before heading for the door. Wishing he didn't have to face the frigid conditions once more, he hesitated for a split second before yanking the door open then gasped as a blast of arctic wind sucked the breath from him. He stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door shut before slogging across the porch and descending the steps.

Sam walked toward the back of the cabin doing his best to ignore the ice snow pellets stinging his face and the ferocious wind that harmonized with his own ragged breathing as his lungs protested the vicious cold. On his reconnaissance of the cabin just a short while ago, he'd noticed a small shed, or outbuilding, adjacent to the back wall. It was there he headed first, hoping to find at least a small supply of firewood within its confines. A hurried look though, when he finally got the stubborn door open, showed the small structure to be for the most part empty except for a few crumpled cardboard boxes, a small stack of old newspapers piled in the corner, and wispy cobwebs. Sam all but growled in frustration.

Moving farther inside the outbuilding, Sam's searching gaze caught a dull glint along the back wall and he grinned. A hatchet! That would do the trick. He'd find some useable wood amongst the trees surrounding the hunting cabin. Sam grabbed the tool from where it hung suspended from two nails and hurried back outside to his task, anxious to return to his brother.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Through half-lidded eyes, Dean watched his brother leave the cabin. When the door thudded shut, he closed them completely as weariness cascaded over him. The hunter bit his bottom lip in discomfort as his fingers and toes started to tingle as his body began to warm slightly. His face too began to burn, especially the tip of his nose. With the cabin empty, there was no one else there to hear the soft whimper-sigh that passed his lips. Strong, stoic hunter or not, it hurt.

Dean tongue darted out and he licked at his severely chapped lips before swallowing against the dryness in his mouth. He desperately wanted some water but was too enervated to search through the backpack Sam had discarded on the floor.

A voltaic, preternatural draft suddenly fluttered through the cabin, and Dean tensed. A low, sinister laugh assaulted his ears causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand at attention. Dean's eyes flew open. And there stood the three _Cailleacha_ with their knotted and bony bodies, tangled gray masses of hair, and rheumy eyes.

The older Winchester shot to a sitting position, gripping the blanket tightly with slightly swollen fingers and silently cursing for not having a weapon within his grasp. "No, no—you're dead! We ganked you skanks. I know we did. Sammy swore we did!"

The three winter hags laughed that same skin-crawling laugh again then the middle one spoke, her voice sibilant and coarse. "Foolish hunter. You should know we do not die; not until that which we last unleashed runs its course. We remain bound to our grand elemental farewell." As she spoke, the hags moved forward, grinning from ear-to-ear and revealing shark-like teeth in various stages of decay.

Dean shuddered as a clawed hand caressed his cheek, leaving a trail of ice in its wake. The hunter jerked his head to the side and growled, "Get off me."

"I am Ice," she tittered, ignoring his demand. Her fingers trailed along his chin and up his other cheek.

"I am Snow," intoned the hag on her right.

"I am Wind," the last of the three announced. She twirled a finger and the otherworldly zephyr danced again throughout the cabin.

The middle hag spoke again. "Where is your brother? Out in our beautiful blizzard? A perilous place to be." The treacherous caress came again. "Perhaps we should go have some fun with him, yes sisters?"

"No!" _Sam!_ Dean struggled to stand. The room tilt-a-whirled, and he sank back down, gripping the edge of the couch cushion.

The trio cackled and spoke as one. "You'll never find him. He is lost. Lost and alone. So very, very alone. And s-s-s-slowly freezing. To death."

That last word tap-tap-tapped at Dean's eardrums. He rose and stumbled across the room and out the door. He tripped through the snow, as oblivious to his bare feet and general state of undress as he was to the arctic weather howling around him.

The _Cailleacha _followed, still cackling and taunting. "He is lost. Never to be found. Lost and so very, very alone without his brother. Freezing. Slowly freezing. To death."

Dean's lungs seized, caging his protests. As he moved away from the cabin, the winter hags closed in, surrounding him. The knurled hands of Ice, Snow, and Wind pawed at him, grabbed at him. Snared his wrists. His arms. Forced him to his knees. Then flat on his belly. One pair of twisted hands wrapped around his neck and squeezed, cutting off his air.

A low buzz echoed in his ears. Wet snow filled his mouth as he struggled to pull in air. He bucked beneath the relentless hands. Then darkness yanked him under.

_(SN) (SN) (SN)_

Sam wiped at his eyes with a gloved hand, the wind making them tear up relentlessly. Snuffling a little against his stuffy nose, he spit then then finished chopping at the tree branch. When he was done, he bent over and gathered the respectable amount of wood he'd managed to collect. With the armload of wood and hatchet in hand, he slogged through the ever-accumulating snow back to the cabin, already daydreaming of a warm fire in the fireplace.

Blinking away the snow crusting to his eyelashes, Sam lumbered up the steps, growing eager to dump his burden. With an amazing feat of balance and coordination, he twisted the knob and shoved the cabin door open, all but falling across the threshold. Once inside Sam made a beeline for the fireplace, dumping the wood on the hearth when he reached it. "Dean, I found enough wood to get a fire going. Should warm this place up in no time." He pulled off his gloves.

Turning to grab the backpack and the book of matches therein, Sam's eyes widened and he gaped as he took in the empty couch. The blanket lay in a heap on the floor. A quick trip around the cabin ratcheted up his worry and his fear.

Dean was gone.

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

Sam's gaze fell on the pile of his brother's clothes he'd tossed aside such a short while ago. Dean was gone, and unless he'd disappeared into thin air, he was somewhere outside half-dressed in dangerous weather. Sam's stomach gave a sickening lurch at the thought.

He raced across the cabin and out the door, yelling Dean's name as soon as he hit the steps. The wind folded, spindled, and mutilated the shouts but he wasn't deterred and continued to shout. The cold air invaded his lungs as he sucked in air between each bellow, forcing him to cough. The hacking intermixed with his frantic calls and echoed around him but there was no answering call from his big brother.

Gaze scanning the clearing then tree line for some clue as to Dean's whereabouts, Sam continued to yell, "DEAN? DEAN, ANSWER ME!" A sudden sharp, howling gust of wind pushed a fistful of snow directly into Sam's face. He choked against the icy, crystalline fractals filling his mouth and arrowing down his windpipe. Tonguing the snow out of his mouth, Sam dashed it away with the back of his hand and paused to catch his breath. Swiping at his streaming eyes, Sam resumed studying his surroundings.

"DEAN! CAN YOU HEAR ME? DEAN?"

_He can't be far. I wasn't gone that long. Please let me find him. Please, please let me find him. Pleaseletme—wait, what's that?_

Sam spied some nearly-obscured indentations in the snow. They didn't look so much like footprints as they did—_drag marks_? Sam frowned. Or maybe they were just evidence of Dean shuffling blindly through the snow. Regardless, instinct urged Sam to follow the faint traces.

He followed the tenuous, intermittent trail of "breadcrumbs" a good distance into the trees. An unexpected screech of a bird perched high above cut through the constant clamor of the wind and startled Sam. He spared a quick glance upward. When his gaze again dipped to the ground, the vague "trail" was gone. Sam felt a spurt of panic roil in his gut. He staggered forward a few steps, gaze now glued to the ground, cursing and muttering under his breath. After another minute of searching, Sam nearly tripped over an odd, misshapen, snow-covered lump in the snow. He dropped to his knees with a cry and reached out a shaky hand, a hopeful prayer on his lips.

"Dean?"

His gloved hand met flesh. "Dean!" Sam frantically brushed away the snow from atop his brother and gently rolled him over. Dean's complexion was gray; his lips trending toward blue. Sam pulled off a glove and felt for a pulse, sighing in relief when found the too slow, but steady, beat. Sam smoothed a palm over Dean's forehead, wincing at the feel of cold, cold skin. "Hey, bro, I got ya. I got ya. Can you wake up for me?" When there's no response, he repeated the motion. "Dean? C'mon, man." He was rewarded with a breathy, barely-there moan. "So that's it, huh? One little moan? Guess I'm carrying you then."

Sam stood and, with not a little effort, maneuvered Dean onto his shoulders in a firemen's carry. The trek back to the cabin took every bit of strength the young hunter had and he was panting and trembling by the time he staggered across the threshold to shelter for the third time. With a weary groan, Sam settled his older sibling on the couch once more.

Hastily tossing the blanket over Dean, Sam turned his attention to getting a fire going in the fireplace. Picking up the sundry pieces of wood, he'd dropped earlier; Sam arranged about half in the grate. It was then he remembered he'd need some paper to help get the kindling going. Recalling the stacks in the small shed out back, he glanced at his still-unconscious brother, worried about leaving but acknowledging to himself that he really had no choice. He sprinted to the shed as fast as the snow would allow, grabbed an armful of the old newspapers, and was back inside within a couple of minutes, relieved to find Dean still sprawled on the couch where he'd left him. Sam pulled an ever-present book of matches from his pocket, knelt and stuffed crumpled paper amongst the wood. After some coaxing, he had a modest fire going in a matter of minutes.

With the fire now ablaze, Sam discarded his coat and turned his attention to Dean. He moved the blanket aside and surveyed his brother. Dean's remaining clothes—his t-shirt, over shirt, and boxer briefs—even the knit cap—were wet and would have to come off. The gash on his thigh was bleeding again and would need to be stitched. Sam sighed. "Just had to go out for a stroll, didn't you?" he snarked fondly. Grabbing one of the towels he'd stuffed in the backpack, Sam eased down on the edge of the couch, hissing when an errant and treacherous spring dug into his hip. He eased backward a couple of inches to rectify the situation before reaching for his brother. Pulling him forward, Sam began to work him out of the long-sleeved shirt. The younger Winchester was so involved in fighting the wet, uncooperative material that he was unprepared when Dean came awake with a start and began to struggle. A flailing fist caught him just under the chin.

"Ngh—nnn. Lemme go! S'm! N-needta f-find S'm!"

"Dean! Dean, it's okay—you're okay, and I'm right here." Sam grabbed his brother's shoulders.

Dean's unfocused gaze roamed the room. "Lemme go!" He pulled weakly against Sam's hold.

Sam took hold of Dean's chin and forced his brother to look at him. "Dean, I'm right here."

The haze cleared slightly from Dean's green eyes. "S'mmy? Yer really here?"

"Yeah, dude, I'm really here. You're the one who went for a stroll in the middle of a blizzard, bro."

"Not lost?"

"Huh?"

"Not lost and 'lone?"

Sam looked at his brother with a puzzled expression. "No, I'm not lost and alone. I told you I had to get firewood, remember?"

"But…"

"We need to get you out of these wet clothes," Sam finished pulling off Dean's over shirt. Throwing it aside, he went for the t-shirt next, tugging it over Dean's head, taking the hat with it. For the time being he left the boxer briefs in place. Picking up the waiting towel, Sam quickly dried Dean off and placed the blanket back over him.

Sam started to stand but Dean's fingers closed around his wrist.

"They were here."

"They? They who?"

"Those w-winter h-hags. They were here."

Sam shook his head. "They couldn't have been here, Dean. We took care of them. They're dead."

Dean looked intently at his little brother, clearly upset. "Not dead. They told me you were lost—out there—and that you were gonna die."

"I wasn't lost. I was getting wood to build a fire. Maybe you fell asleep and with all that's happened had a nightmare." Sam listened to Dean's continued protest as he retrieved the first aid kit from the back pack.

"I'm gonna have to stitch that wound on your leg; it's bleeding again." The younger Winchester was about to gather what he needed to clean, stitch, and bandage the wound when he noticed something odd. He leaned forward. Bruises were forming on Dean's wrists and ankles. Even worse, dark handprints encircled his neck. It looked like he'd been restrained and choked. Sam touched the offensive marks and swallowed hard.

"Dude, what the hell happened to you?"

TBC…


End file.
